Storm grew up wanting to become a knight. Most of his dreams of future glory were weaved in such a way, of big crowds and grand tourneys; traveling from city to city, a vivid kaleidoscope of moments, so captivating to his younger self that when he realized it wasn’t going to happen, it took him a long time to recover and built something new.

He started all over. But it left him bitter. Now he loathed being around events or hearing about knightly deeds. Can one hate something he once loved so dearly? He wondered watching Sir Rik De Weer, scion of the second most powerful family in Kaltha, clad in his polished black plate armor, ashen crow painted on his chest and shield, crash onto his lighter opponent. The lance shattered on the Princes’ shield, hitting it dead center and almost lifted him off his saddle, ending the duel right there. The crowd got up across from them excited and yelled, the nobles keeping a calmer head despite the tension visible on their faces.

The opponents rode away, stopped to replace lances and orient themselves then attacked each other again. This time the Prince wisely angled away from the on-rushing knight and despite De Weer’s effort the tip of his lance missed him completely. The foreigner fighter snapped his hand in a weird technique half turning his body and nailed the heavier knight hard on the side of his closed-face helmet as he dashed by him. It shook the bigger man and almost dropped him in turn.

“Wow!” Antoon exclaimed in an un-kinglike manner. “What was that?”

“Did he get him the first time also?” Nattas asked Sudi turning around. His man was sitting right behind him and with a nibble stoop of his waist replied courtly, if not a little self-conscious.

“I missed it boss.”

Nattas puffed his cheeks out as the two men reached the edge of the field and replaced weapons again, a bit slower this time.

“De Weer needs to close the gap,” Sudi continued. “I bet he hurt him the first time.”

“Hmm,” That was all Nattas could manage.

De Weer did angle-in this time, experienced fighter that he was and as the Prince followed the same tactic, caught him not five meters before their stands. The tip of his lance punched the center of that round shield and cracked it without breaking itself, a rarity. Or a ‘fixed’ weapon, Storm thought. The Prince was pushed off the saddle completely and he had to drop his lance in order to use his free hand to find a hold.

It was a desperate attempt, to stay attached to the side of his wildly neighing and kicking horse that galloped away maddened. At one point his helmed head scrapped the ground, but he managed to swing a leg over the saddle, pulled hard and climbed on top like a circus acrobat, under the half-excited and half-surprised passionate cries of the crowd. No hate though, Nattas noticed impressed and a bit jealous. He’d won them over.

“He’s done,” The High King of Kaltha declared. “Tell the tourney sergeant to stop the fight.”

A servant called out and someone approached and saluted sharply. The servant repeated the King’s words to him.

“Sir?” The grey bearded man clad in armour inquired. “He must yield first.”

“I won’t have him killed in front of me! He’s a foreign dignitary!” Antoon thundered, his dark face darkening even more but surprisingly the sergeant’s spine held firm.

It was impressive.

“It is in the rules Sir. Written by your hand. He either yields or dies.”

Well then, Nattas thought, sitting back on his seat, his eyes following the hurt Prince slowly replace his weapons. This will be interesting. Sigurd, sitting right next to him had stopped breathing, as if expecting the worst. Which was, well… also interesting.

Lord Storm Nattas was watching the old warrior approaching their seats, when the sound of galloping signaled another round had started. Sweat and dirt tarnished Roderick’s collar, probably because he’d gone back and forth numerous times keeping the older Alden informed. He gave them a small acknowledgment and a small two nuggets of wisdom that showed his keen eye for detail even at his age.

“No shield.”

Storm snapped his eyes towards the field trying to spot what he’d seen. De Weer was pushing his horse hard, following that same oblique route and expecting a similar outcome. The Prince himself was slowly moving away from the center, again approaching the wall of the stands, holding his lance with both hands. De Weer was going to cut him off again.

“Sir Albert!” Antoon growled seeing the catastrophe coming, “tell your sergeant to stop this—”

He stopped, the crowd letting out a loud murmur of disbelief as the motive of the fight changed. The Prince had cut hard inside guiding his horse with his thighs, forcing the other Knight to correct his course himself.

“Cunning bastard,” Roderick grunted.

Nattas watched the final seconds of the fight unfold numb. The blunt tip of the Prince’s lance, now running at full gallop, was aimless and too low. De Weer who’d already changed his course once, had just corrected it again to straighten out his mount for the final few meters of the charge. Aiming to avoid a horse on horse collision he’d glided a bit more away towards the center of the racetrack and missed his opponent’s lance rising. De Weer proceeded to fix his shield always keeping his own lance on his opponent, everything done sharply and in less than two seconds. One and three quarters perhaps. It was in that final quarter he realized the Prince had finally aimed his now risen lance, right at his horse’s head.

Storm half-frowned half-grimaced, the only reaction he’d managed to conjure. De Weer’s horse, on the other hand, smart beast that it was, violently snapped its head to the side, almost breaking its own neck in the process; all in an effort to avoid being skewered, front legs buckling as they dug in and scraped the ground desperately to turn its massive body, hind legs rising clean off. De Weer was propelled forward over the saddle, where he was stopped, not by the horse’s head, but the blunt tip of Prince Radin's lance; landing on his chest plate cleanly, like a mule’s kick. He lost his helm at that moment. The next, the plate itself warped and then the lance shattered, sending splinters everywhere, one of them lodging in his left eye that popped and emptied down his face like an egg.

It was over.

You could hear a pin drop.

“Luthos cock,” Sudi said a good minute later.

“Fuck,” That was his highness Antoon the 2nd.

“Aah. Yep,” Came Roderick’s contribution before the crowd erupted, some were booing angrily here and there, but the majority were screaming their delight at the showmanship displayed before them; but for De Weer of course. The large knight had slid down his saddle and was now attended by a Dottore and his own people, his cries of pain barely covered by the roar of the crowd.

Nattas dropped down on his seat. He hadn’t realized he’d stood up at some point. Looking around he noticed Sigurd’s eyes were glassy and wet as if he’d just cried of all the fucking things, which was too heavy a reaction even for a patriot over a game or even money, then again being the good judge of character that he was, he’d swear the guy was the happier he’d seen him in his life.

“You wanna know how much coin we just lost?” Sudi casually whispered in his ear interrupting his thoughts and Storm sighed pensively closing his eyes.

“Well that threw the pre-games prognostications out the fucking window.” Nattas said wryly shifting uncomfortably on his seat. A badly made wooden construct that hurt his back and cut off circulation to his legs. He’d half a mind to have the carpenter hunted down and killed.

“Ralph is the better fighter, I think,” Roderick said as if trying to convince himself.

“That’s the fifth knight our ‘Prince of nowhere’ has felled. Ralph got a couple of wins against people he orders around since he was five and a pass from his brother. We might want to be a bit more realistic here.”

“Regia has the best knights,” Roderick spat insulted.

“I bet you Kaltha thought the same thing.”

A good idea to make a quick coin, gone to waste.

“He’s injured for sure. His horse shot and he’s tired.” Roderick went another way.

“I’ll give you he’s banged up somewhat. But another mount can be found easily, the city is drowning in their shit.”

The latter a blooming fact, if ever was one.

Roderick grimaced adding more wrinkles on his tired face.

“I’ll go talk to young Alden. See if I can help him. He’s a good fighter Storm.”

Storm blinked at the intentional slip of the tongue. He knew Roderick for many years, also studied weapons under him for a moon and respected him somewhat, but he was too attached to the boys.

In some ways, they all were.

“Fine. Go help out, I’ll be on the lookout myself,” He said letting the matter die.

“Boss,” Sudi whispered, when the man had moved away. “The king isn’t too pleased.”

Nattas turned right away to watch the scene unfold, on the first line of seats to his left.

“…was a risk from the very start my King,” Sigurd was saying as his ears tuned in blocking all other sounds.

“You think he knew? Can we even trust your man?” King Antoon replied. “Is this but a trick, to force even more humiliation on our heads?”

“He hasn’t won your majesty. But he may use a win as another bargaining chip. This is a very public event. Your people are watching.”

“Curse him. I won’t be pushed into a corner in front of me and mine!” Antoon rumbled grinding his teeth.

“Sir Alden will win,” His sister said softly.

“Huh? And how on Uher do you know that?” He snapped at her.

“He promised me.”

King Antoon stared at her for a moment trying to figure out if she was pulling his leg.

“Have you lost it my dear? Is this it?”

“It’s true,” She replied stubbornly.

Ah, there’s something sweet there, Nattas thought with a grin.

“Princess—” Sigurd tried to say but Antoon cut him off with a glare.

“Don’t lord Bach. I want to hear this.”

“Young Alden is not the worst option my King. It could solve our problem discretely.” Sigurd insisted bravely, impressing Nattas.

The king collapsed into his much comfier seat, deep in thought.

“Find out how ‘well’ is our dear Prince Lord Bach. I want this fight to happen before the sun sets. If he can walk, he shall compete,” He finally said with another look at his blushing sister.

“I will make sure your Majesty,” Sigurd replied with a small bow of his bald head.

Nattas tackled him before he’d disappeared into the crowd that had gathered to talk about the day’s events.

“Lord Nattas,” Sigurd said, as he started walking by his side. An ordeal in itself. “Didn’t expect to talk to you again so soon. Alas like an illness, you’re forced upon me.”

“Oh please, my friend. Language,” Storm replied syrupy mimicking his own manner from earlier. “I have a couple of questions for you.”

“I’m fresh out of answers. Apologies.”

“A merchant ship out of Raoz fell into a storm and sunk,” Nattas said casually not deterred in the least. “Among them was an important passenger, sources say.”

Most of them deceased by now.

Sigurd halted and turned his head to look at him.

“A tragedy. Who was the poor fellow?”

“I think you know.”

“Nah, I don’t think I do. This isn’t very interesting to me.”

“I may know where a certain Northern girl is,” Nattas insisted, using the next card in the deck.

Sigurd smacked his lips, checking around them for any onlookers.

“Where is she?”

“You first. The man was seen carrying Lord Elliot Reeves’ shield,” Nattas explained. “Nigh scandalous, had the man not being married for years.”

His joke flew over Sigurd’s head.

“Is this true?”

“Like my limp.”

“Duke Winfield’s sent someone then. That wild story is real. Gods,” Sigurd whispered frowning. “Who was the man? Have you found out?”

“Few people survived, wasn’t amongst them. What is happening Sigurd?”

“Is the girl in Riverdor?” Lord Bach haggled stalling.

Saving a woman’s life in the process.

“She left early this morning. You know where she’s heading,” Nattas lied effortlessly. “Sigurd, why is the Prince here?”

The man tied his hands behind his back and stared towards the stands they’ve left behind. “He came to deliver a notice of insult, among other things.” He said finally, then adding as an afterthought. “I have to search for that damn girl.”

“Yes, you will get it. But tell me, was the Prince insulted? In Raoz?”

“The whole matter… is complicated.”

“Complicated. This isn’t like you to slip up like that. What has you spooked my old colleague?”

Sigurd puffed hard. “I can say no more Storm. I’ve said more than enough and you gave up nothing per usual. Anyway, we don’t have a clear picture. And what we have… we know, it shouldn’t be. Now if you excuse me, I have duties to perform Lord Nattas.”

Storm watched him walk away in silence. There was something after all, he thought. A messenger was sent, but he never made it. What was the insult though? Everything can be solved diplomatically, where Kings were involved. Sigurd said ‘a wild story’ and it’d stuck with him. Why was it important?

“Boss?” Sudi had appeared next to him out of nowhere, carrying a loaf of bread and a flask of water. A good portion of the bread was missing, Nattas noticed. “You need to move out of the street. See that meat carriage comin’? I believe the driver is drunk as a skunk.”

A couple of hours later Lord Storm Nattas had recovered some of his strength, eaten his fill and returned to the tourney field stands cleaned up and in new soap-smelling clothes, to take his place next to the other dignitaries. A couple of new faces had popped up, more notable that of young William Redmond, heir to the vassal Duchy of Sovya and distant relative of the O’ Dargans. He’d come to ask for leniency for Zofia.

News had spread like wildfire.

Storm was almost tempted to give the wench up. Make it seem like an accident. Blame it on his injury or something along those lines. Had it been anyone else that asked him other than Lucius… He did have a soft spot for the young heir, so he let it slide.

“I don’t think the O’ Dargans would agree with this,” Sudi commented watching Redmond plead his case. “Northmen that bend the knee aren’t well liked up on the true North.”

“Bah. Just hope I don’t have to talk them.” Regia had a strained relation with the Duchy despite being allied not that many years back. Jakub Redmond had two twin daughters Martha and Macia, both older than William. He’d married one into the kingdom of Regia but the union wasn’t a happy one. Which was the most courteous manner one could tell the story, Nattas thought remembering the slain red-haired beauty.

“Sigurd seems flustered by the topic.”

“Yeah, the girl probably is long gone by now,” He said loud enough to be heard.

“Can’t blame her.”

Little theatrics for any onlookers done, Storm focused on the knight wearing the arms of Regia preparing for the duel. Ralph was talking with Roderick and his squire going through tactics and last minute changes. He caught the intense stare of the Princess watching the young Alden and sighed. There is always a chance, for a good outcome. Optimism can really drive a man or woman forward. He thought of his would be assassin, still at large and the blond girl with the freckles. The latter brought a stirring to his loins quite unexpected given the venue. He sighed again still uncomfortable for some fucking reason.

Sigurd’s words had rattled him.

Storm wasn’t an optimist, not a committed one.

Maybe if he was a knight or few years younger. But he was neither.

So he believed more in revenge, which was a less vague feeling since you needed an outlet to focus and that was it. Well to be fair, it was also a bitch to strategize on, unless you knew your enemy was an idiot. Still way better than blind optimism. Not when you know there are stuff happening behind the curtains you’re not privy to.

“Why would the Prince agree to fight today? It’s suicide.” Sudi asked him, what he’d avoided to think about because he didn’t have an answer he liked.

So Storm said nothing.

“…Sir Ralph Alden, son of King Alistair Alden of Regia and twice winner of the High King’s tournament here in Riverdor. The oldest royal tournament, in the three kingdoms. The ‘young tiger’ is running a fifteen wins streak going back three years.” The tourney official announced to the packed crowd. Almost everyone voiced their approval with loud cheers. The stands were full. There were people watching even from the edges of the race track, many stood on rooftops and the whole city seemed to have frozen to watch the last duel of the tournament. Nattas just wanted to sit down by this point as his leg was bothering him again and being amidst so many people was disconcerting after the attempt on his life. “On the other side, his opponent… Prince Radin Ranpour, Lord of the Jade Lake, fourth son of Sultan Burzin Ranpour of the Great Khanate, will fight his sixth duel in his first participation. May the Gods bless both; you can begin.”

“Is that the same shield?” Sudi asked, voice barely audible above the sudden hush of the crowd. All sounds seized but for the horses neighing and bursting forth. Hooves rattled on the soft ground, digging it up as clouds of dust billowed behind the two riders. Nattas found himself clenching his jaw, mind wandering in the past. He remembered that feeling, the adrenaline surging up his legs as the beast underneath him surged ahead. The thump of his heart, wild like a savage drum in his chest. The fear, the weight of the lance, the smell of iron. The Prince followed the same routine, widening the gap to draw Ralph in. The young Alden stayed his course though and when his opponent realized it, he tried to cut inside himself. It was too late. The two fighters passed each other too far for their lances to reach, much to the disappointment of the crowd.

They stopped, stared across the field and went at it again.

Nattas had stopped breathing. Much of the luster of his memories had washed away by now and what remained was worry. The Issirian princess seated two chairs away had dug her nails into her palms, her graphite face turned ashen.

The Prince closed up the distance earlier this time trying to make contact, but it was Ralph that pulled away as they passed each other again without their weapons touching.

“The hells is this?” King Antoon exclaimed frustrated. Part of the crowd murmuring as well. Keep your wits about you kid, Storm thought eyes glued on the two adversaries turning around and pushing their horses at a wild charge.

Prince Radin had enough. He followed a straight line this time, lance pointing low towards the ground. No more than ten meters from meeting his opponent the blunted tip rose sharply aimed at Ralph’s horse chest and as it continued rising, its head. Like clockwork the young Alden’s mount cut away from the oncoming rider as if he’d anticipated the move and the Prince had to widen the arc on his lance to connect with it, in the secs before they’d reached each other. Ralph’s lance smacked hard on his shield first. It was a crackling sound that snapped the weakened round shield in two and shattered the lance on the Prince’s left arm. The Prince staggered as he flew by the knight, barely staying on the saddle. His arm appeared too weak to even lift up.

“Same shield,” Sudi commented again as Nattas let a breath he held out.

Everyone was expecting the white-leather clad Prince to test a fresh shield out as he reached his men, but he’d discarded his unused lance dropping it to the ground instead and one of them tossed him a shorter one, what Nattas recognized to be a heavy war-spear. He hefted it in his hand for a moment and then turned around to proceed with the duel.

“Can he do that?” Nattas asked just as the King inquired about the same thing.

“He’s allowed to switch weapons, if one of them fails him,” A tournament official replied. “As is his opponent.”

A conversation had sparked between the official on the ground and the people on Ralph’s corner.

“What’s the problem?” Nattas asked Sudi.

“The spear has no blunted tip,” His man replied. “Sir Ralph is worried about his horse.”

Who cares about the bloody horse?

“So what? The lance is longer, next time he’ll just floor the cretin, before he has a chance to touch him!” Nattas snapped unable to understand the reasoning.

“The Prince offered to dismount, if our guy did the same. Spare the horses.”

No.

“Absolutely fucking not!” Nattas snarled seeing the game that rat-faced foreigner was playing. “Tell Roderick to stop this crazy talk. Go now, you fool!”

“Roderick is against it boss.”

But it wasn’t on the old soldier’s hands unfortunately.

Ralph had jumped off his mount, before the talks were over. Exchanged his lance for a longsword and his great shield for a lighter one. After a brief stare down the Prince dismounted himself but kept his spear.

Nattas collapsed on his seat too frustrated to even speak. He wasn’t an expert in jousting but he’d seen enough fights to know you never change anything, if you are winning.

“He can’t use a shield.” Sudi commented most likely to cheer him up. It lasted for a short moment, then the field was cleared out and the duel restarted.

In the first minute the Prince, moving like a seasoned Zilan hoplite reborn, attacked using both his hands, dancing on the balls of his feet. He started with a straight push using one hand that almost skewered Ralph’s helm and followed it with a two handed downward left cut that went under his shield and opened up his right leg above the knee. It wasn’t a horrible injury but it bled a lot and Ralph had to stumble away, getting another jab on his left shoulder that dented his armour.

Nattas mouth tasted like sand and his stomach turned into a knot. He was a selfish man but a child of Regia nonetheless. Truth be told he’d lived his own dreams of fighting in the arena through king Alistair’s sons. His uneasiness since he’d watched Prince Radin defeat De Weer returned tenfold. Or perhaps it was always there, disguised as something else.

Ralph stopped the next thrust with his shield, turned it sideways to guide the spear tip away and swung upwards with his sword. The Prince jerked away, but soon as he finished his move the longsword came down again as Ralph pushed forward. He’d dodged once more rolling back, a true acrobat if nothing else, but Ralph who’d fought everything and anyone unafraid since he was twelve, rushed forward again and landed a kick on the Prince’s chest that sent him sprawling in the dirt.

The lithe man swung his feet around and jumped up but he was shaken as his opponent once more attacked, giving him no time to pick a strategy. Ralph blocked his wild arching swing with his shield, sidestepped to get a better angle and snapped his sword trying to cut open his chest. The Prince dodged anew, his lighter armor probably the main reason behind his speed, now that Nattas thought about it, only to trip up and made to fall on his side almost, as he shot an arm out and stopped it mid-move, all a ruse; as his other arm swung the spear like a greatsword, trying to decapitate the charging Ralph.

“Umph…” Nattas managed to say, as young Alden lowered his helm to take the sting out the blow, his sword coming at the commited Prince Radin from the other side. The great helm rung like Uher’s bell, a clanging sound heard above all other gasps coming from the crowd. Ralph staggered and almost went down, but it was the Prince that growled in pain and jumped back, his finely ornamented white armour, painted a deep red under the left breast.

Nattas realized someone had grabbed his arm, nails dug in his bicep deep and for a moment he stared confused at the tense profile of the Issirian Princess that had appeared to his side.

“Attack boy,” Sudi hissed, standing on his other shoulder and Ralph did just that, though still dazed and probably concussed, he pushed forth utilizing both swings and cuts trying to finish off the retreating Prince. That demon of a fighter managed to deflect the sword twice using his spear, but the second time Raph kicked him below the knee doubling him over, then shield-bashed him hard enough to send his helmet flying off his head and probably breaking his nose.

Taking a step forward, Ralph breathing heavy through his face cover slits and probably tired to the point of derision swung again with his longsword, caught the defending spear at about mid-shaft and snap it in two equal parts. One flew over the Prince’s head, but the other the desperately rolling away fighter kept a hold on, now more a sword than a war spear.

“Yield, you accursed demon-spawn!” King Antoon bellowed cutting above all other sounds, Nattas eyes ogling so hard he’d momentarily lost focus on the two opponents. Ralph turned his head to the sound of the King’s voice and by the time he swung it again towards his opponent, Prince Radin had executed an impossible four meter roll on the soft ground that reached the young Alden’s legs and swiftly stabbed upwards with his broken spear. The tip went under the opening of his helm, caught him below the jaw and pierced through flesh and bone half the way into his brain.

Ralph froze up as if hit by lighting, then toppled over and collapsed on his back.

“Find our men,” Nattas ordered Sudi, voice hoarse and strangled, in the pandemonium that ensued. “Reach Lord Lucius before the news. Keep him there!” His man was hurrying away before he finished his words. Everyone else was running towards the field. Nattas followed them as fast as he could, his injured leg slowing him down. Ten meters in someone shoved him and he went down, people stepping over him. He forced himself up, gritting his teeth and pushed towards the white-faced Roderick and the ghoulish looking youth that was Ralph’s squire. Roderick saw him approaching and shook his head slowly. Nattas closed his eyes, his legs coming to a halt on their own.

People bumped onto him, most rushing towards the stands, some circling the spot where Ralph had fallen, Dottore Marcus still trying to mend the unamendable, hands painted red to the elbows. His eyes turned away not wanting to watch the futile struggle, followed the crowd silently listening to the King talking to the barely standing Prince Radin, a throng of his people creating a barrier in a desperate attempt to protect him, if things soured.

“…you’ll get Edge Castle, overlooking the Carpi Isle, right across the city of Caspo O’ Bor, a day’s ride from the kingdom’s capital.” Antoon said, clearly not in the best of moods, his sister weeping somewhere behind him not helping. “And a lot of golden Eagles. Will you agree to that?”

“You’ll give me the dowry but not the bride?” Prince Radin spat a mouthful of blood on the ground. “Apologies. But I will decline.”

“Is that so? What is it you want then?”

“Your majesty, you’ve read—” Sigurd intervened but was quickly shut down by the King.

“Yes, but let him speak.”

The Prince pressed a cloth to his nostrils to stop the blood running down his jaw. Took his fuckin’ time, Nattas thought, the nerves of everyone around him winding up even more.

“You will make good with my brother and the Blessed Moon of Dan,” Prince Radin finally said. “If he’s well pleased, I will let go of my reward, much as I would have preferred not to. The realm is above all else.”

“So say we all,” The King said dryly. “Name the prize.”

“The Duchy of Raoz.”

The King got up abruptly, but Nattas was not in good enough an angle to see his face. Still the shock of the outrageous demand expelled some of the numbness that had grabbed him since the end of the duel.

“You played this very well Prince Radin. For a while you had all the cards in your hands,” He said and there was something in his voice, Storm hadn’t heard before. “But you see, in the end you are nothing but a jester that reached too far and fell way short.”

“Kaltha’s remedy for an insult, is to insult us—”

“A bird came from Castalor,” The king said gravely before he’d a chance to finish. “The Duke of Raoz gave us his side of the story. He told us a great many things. Things… difficult to fathom. The news… were shocking.”

Nattas narrowed his eyes at this new piece of information.

“That is not possible.”

“Unfortunately for you, it very much is,” Antoon said with a grimace of distaste. “We will offer no apologies or compensation to your brother. There was no offence. A demon can’t be insulted. We will offer no dowry or gold to you Prince Radin. You participated without deserving your entry through a ruse and turned this tournament into a bloody street brawl, which was very unpleasant to us. You brought us great sorrow. I’m of the mind to execute you on the spot. But I won’t, you’re my guest. You also won in front of my people, unfortunately. I am not a savage. You will have my sister, as this was the prize. A king must always keep his word.”

In the end, the realm was above all else.

Nattas forced himself away from the jousting field and towards the villa. He wanted to learn more but time is precious and not freely given. Other matters took priority. It was an ordeal for him, his body tired from the long journey, foot worrying him to the point of madness. Dangerous also, rushing through the street with the assassin still on the loose. Again, priorities; and simple logic. Save the house that shelters you, else you’ll be buried in the rubble.

“…we’re here to protect you my Lord, not the girl.” Nattas caught part of what Sudi was saying as he approached, face covered in sweat, his leg dragging and stooped over like an old man on death’s doorstep.

“Very considerate,” Lucius replied looking at the two well-built guards they’d brought with them. “Also extremely paranoid. I assure you, I’m in no danger boys. Now, step aside.”

“We have orders sire, from Lord Nattas himself,” Sudi insisted monotonously.

“I don’t care. Move,” Lucius said now less polite and then caught him nearing fast as he could, which was something much slower than a casual stroll, if you’re knee-deep in snow. “Ah, master Storm comes to explain, I’m sure.”

“Lord Alden, my man speaks the truth,” Storm said breathing heavily from the exertion. Still a good ten meters from the group standing at the entrance of the villa his legs almost gave out.

“Nattas, Uher-bless-thee man, did you rush the whole way? What happened?” Lucius asked, eyes searching his.

“It’s over.”

“Is that it then? Who won?” Lucius said with a frown as he came at a stop a couple of meters from him. The Northern lass watching from inside the villa’s yard perked up, her woman intuition catching the undertone on Nattas voice.

Storm couldn’t get himself to speak out, his stomach had lodged firmly on his throat and the moment dragged. Lucius frown deepened, head tilting a bit to the side, blue eyes measuring Nattas demeanor, then the two rough men in armour and Sudi, before returning on the aptly named at that long moment, Master of Silence of the Kingdom of Regia.

“The Prince won,” A tick appeared on Lucius left eye, a deep line added itself on his forehead. Nattas voice broke. “Ralph is gone.”

Lucius blinked. “Where… gone where?”

Then the royal band started playing Regia’s song pensively. The drums thundering at every turn of the verse, words now unspoken but known from every Lorian of Regia by heart.

By the sword ye came,

by the sword firm ye stand,

wheth'r guardin’ Alden sands

or stricken o’ rascals reave

by the sword ye shalt leave

Roderick’s mourning procession was coming.

The face of the famed heir to the kingdom of Regia turned rugged, became that of a different man in the space of a drawn breath, eyes wild and dark.

“Lucius. I’m sorry,” Nattas muttered feeling embarrassed of all fucking things, for the petty words perhaps, but there’s no way to temper something rotten, watching Lucius reel back as if he’d caught an iron bolt to the chest. I’m sorry my friend. No man is truly protected or safe. Try all you like, but in the end the Gods will crush all your efforts. If you are competent enough, you’ll manage to pick up the pieces.

Throw out the rot;

built anew,

Or fight for it.